


(Don't) Take Me Tongue Tied

by loveinamaltshop



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Humor, Joe Trohman: Best Friend To All, M/M, Misdirected Pining, Part Time Job Mundanity, Pining, Summer, also lifeguard of the year, but wetter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/pseuds/loveinamaltshop
Summary: “His name is Patrick,” Joe says slowly “Of ambiguous sexuality.” He pauses “Though he’s probably straight. He only wears cargo pants, dude, and even I’m not that straight.”In which Pete falls for "the Botticelli angel in the towel kiosk," Patrick has a broken gaydar, and Joe could stand to get paid a little more for this shit.





	(Don't) Take Me Tongue Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Grouplove's "[Tongue Tied](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwB-iVAfnMo)." Enjoy!

If Joe knows anything about Pete, it’s that he’ll hit on anything with legs.

They’ve been roommates since Joe graduated high school. Both worked odd jobs, barely paying off the apartment at the end of the month. Usually, there was a supplementary envelope that came from Pete’s mom that Joe was too embarrassed to even acknowledge in the first place, but when you were eating beans from the can and day-old rice, they might as well have used it before Pete changed his mind and spent in on weirdly expensive shoes or lawn ornaments.

During one summer, Pete’s doing freelance writing that’s surprisingly lucrative and Joe lifeguards at the rec center ten minutes away from their place. Joe didn’t actually know how to swim, but the pool only came up five feet and there was only usually hyperactive dumb kids or some high school aged couple that made out by the deep end. These were two patrons Joe hated the most, and the only patrons he got.

He decided it gets kind of better when on his second week, there’s a new hire.

His name is Patrick and he wears too much clothing. Not that Joe preferred to see him in less because he wasn’t a perv, thank you very much. He was also mostly heterosexual.

(He was firm on his stance that either Ryan Philippe or Paul Rudd would be his one above the belt exception.)

It’s just that it’s summer time and Patrick has a hat, a polo shirt that isn’t meant for summer, and khakis. Joe is at least relieved that Patrick wears Birkenstocks. He wonders if he usually wears them with socks. He wouldn’t judge, but it just wouldn’t be practical around a pool.

Patrick mans the towel kiosk right but they’re both responsible for laundering them at the end of their shifts by 5pm. It’s a little unfortunate that he’s constantly under a roof of it because Patrick is a really pale dude and he could use a tan.

Joe sees him at the side of his periphery when he sits on his chair. He wears a polite smile at obnoxious teenagers, something Joe could never do. A half snarl is the best he can manage so Patrick is pretty much a champ in his eyes.

They get to talk on Patrick’s first day when they’re throwing a huge load of towels into the machine.

“How are you liking it?” Joe asks, because it’s pretty standard to do so.

Patrick shrugs. “It’s not too bad.”

Joe catches the wary look Patrick gives him.

“I won’t tell Brenda,” Joe snorts, referring to their middle-aged supervisor.

Patrick laughs. “I mean it. It’s not bad. I mean, I’d rather be doing a ton of other things but I need the cash, man.”

“I hear that,” Joe mumbles.

There’s nothing but the angry whir of the years-old machine until the cycle ends and Joe feels kind of bad. He’d usually be the type to talk someone’s ear off but being under the sun and having three kids pretend to drown takes a lot out on him. Patrick doesn’t seem to mind, humming to himself with his hands in his pockets, glancing at Joe every now and then.

They part ways. Patrick leaves a good impression on Joe. Maybe it’s the way he keeps to himself, or his weird Dad Birkenstocks, but Joe is just relieved he can tolerate the only other adult in his workplace.

A couple of weeks since Patrick’s first day, Pete shows up, a mere thirty minutes after they’ve opened the pool. Joe’s scrubbing sunscreen over his cheeks when they make eye contact.

Pete already has his shirt off, towel slung over his shoulder. Joe really doesn’t doubt that he walked all the way from their apartment in nothing but red swim trunks and slip-on Vans. If it wasn’t his best friend, Joe would’ve thought he was a class-A douche on the checkered Vans to a freaking  _ pool  _ alone. He still kind of was to Joe, but if Pete tolerated his antics too, it should hardly be a favor.

“Joseph,” Pete says, grinning up at Joe from the leg of the chair.

“If you’re here to hit on high schoolers,” Joe says as his hand smoothens a glob of sunscreen on the slope of his nose “I’m going to ban you from the establishment. For real, dude.”

Pete wrinkles his nose. His fingers move to tickle Joe’s bare feet, causing him to yelp. Yep. Class-A douche. Didn’t question it.

“AC’s broken. Shut the fuck up.” Pete rolls his eyes. He emphasizes the curse when some eleven-year-old kid passes by, looking at them with wide eyes.

Joe runs a hand over his face.

When he looks over at Pete again, he’s staring at Joe’s left. He’s openly staring at Patrick, head tilted to the side. He knew that look.

“Who  _ is  _ that Botticelli angel?” Pete asks, a comical lilt to his voice, tugging Joe’s ankle “Have you been hiding him from me?”

It takes everything in Joe not to kick him in the face. Maybe one day. The chair gave him the perfect height to do just that.

“Trohman, asked you a question.”

Joe lets go of any thoughts of mild violence and looks over at Patrick. Today, he was wearing a t-shirt, a trucker hat, and probably pants again. The weather was ridiculous today and just looking at Patrick made another rush of sweat coat Joe.

“His name is Patrick,” Joe says slowly “Of ambiguous sexuality.” He pauses “Though he’s probably straight. He only wears cargo pants, dude, and even I’m not that straight.”

“We’ll find out,” Pete shrugs a single shoulder before he tosses his towel at Joe, nearly knocking him off the chair “Hold this for me. I think I need a new one.”

Joe’s eyes can only widen as he watches Pete saunter towards the towel kiosk. From where he can see, Patrick looks up from where he’s been folding and plasters a pleasant smile. His eyes skim Pete’s form and there’s eyes averted when Pete leans against the counter. Okay, maybe Patrick was kinda gay but Pete was tight and lean in ways Joe would never say out loud. It wasn’t because it seemed gay because he had no problems with that, it was just that Pete was Pete and he’d never live down the fact that Joe could admit he was an attractive dude.

Usually a towel transaction takes thirty seconds max if either party engages in small talk. Pete has taken up five minutes with Patrick. From where Joe could see, there was a towel in Patrick’s hand, but Pete’s forearms were against the counter where he leaned. He catches Patrick’s eye and waves. God, Pete was so weird. Patrick was just trying to do his job.

Joe decides to turn and watch the pool, blowing his whistle at a couple of kids rough housing near the edge. He sits back down again, closing his eyes against the rays of the sun. That was enough work for today.

* * *

“So your friend hit on me, I think.”

The corner of Joe’s lip quirks as he pours in detergent into the machine. “Did he now,”

Patrick laughs nervously. “Yeah, he was um,” he cleared his throat “Being kind of forward, you know?”

“I am so sorry,” spills out of Joe’s mouth automatically. He’s sang this song before. He knows it by heart. That song is called Pete Can Be A Creep And I’m Sorry I’m Associated With Him (I Swear I’m Cool.) “If he asked you to have sex with him, he means it as a joke, mostly. You don’t  _ have  _ to, alright? His pick-up lines just never, ever translate well.”

“Uh,” Patrick’s eyes widen, staring at Joe, fingers moving autopilot on the machine “He just asked me to grab a smoothie with him around the corner when my shift ended. His treat.”

Joe freezes. “Oh. Well, fuck me into tomorrow, that sounds perfectly decent.”

A flush creeps down Patrick’s neck as he nods. Damn, at least Joe solved the mystery as to why he hid under caps and the towel kiosk roof: he’d probably lobster up if he was anywhere near the sun.

“So, you heading out to see him?” Joe asks, before he cocks his head “Wait, are you even gay?”

Patrick nods too quickly. “Very.”

“Cool,” Joe nods once “But yeah, are you seeing him?”

“I mean, it’d be rude not to,” Patrick says “Plus, free smoothies.”

“Cool, cool,” Joe says again “Hey, have fun, alright? You can go ahead if you want. I’ll finish up here.”

Patrick beams and shakes his head. “It’s alright. We’re a team, remember?”

“Just you and me, dude. It’s more like Batman and Robin,” Joe says, laughing at the way Patrick’s eyes light up.

“You’re going to dibs Batman, aren’t you?” Patrick says, deadpan.

_ “It’s because I’m taller,”  _ Joe says, lowering his voice a few octaves to make it gravelly and low.

It makes Patrick laugh hysterically and throw a measuring cup at him.

* * *

Pete comes home at nine that evening, smelling like chlorine and hamburgers. He’s wearing a shirt now, so Joe at least knows he was granted service. He has a cheesy smile on his face that’s familiar to Joe, the kind of familiar that makes him roll his eyes.

“I have to work with him, you know,” Joe sing songs where he lays on the couch, scrolling passively on his laptop “So you better not have—”

Pete’s face crumples before he socks Joe’s shoulder. “Jeez, dude,” he says but the grin comes back too easily “I took him to a freaking diner. We even shared pie and shit.”

_ Pie?!  _ Joe almost cries out incredulously but he opts to bite his tongue instead. Pete didn’t even like pie.

“Pie,” he says slowly.

Pete nods. “Pie.”

_ Pie,  _ Joe narrows his eyes and puts his laptop lid down. “Huh, so it was a  _ legitimate  _ date.”

“It was.”

“Are you sure?” Joe blurts out, voice high on the last word.

Pete shoves at his shoulder again. “Would I lie to you?”

Joe stares back, pained but fond. “Sometimes I wish you would, the things I know.”

Pete laughs before he lays his body on the couch, the soles of his feet thrown over Joe’s lap, ignoring his grumble and his head on the arm of the couch. A dreamy sigh comes out of Pete.

“I’ve already rented my tux, dude,” he says “We’ll have matching pink carnations.”

He pats Pete’s ankle. “Happy for you.”

“Look, okay, he  _ sang  _ to me,” Pete bursts with an enthusiasm he saves for the ice cream truck and dollar bills he finds in the laundry “Boogie Wonderland. Fucking  _ Boogie Wonderland.” _

“Uh.”

“Okay, fine, he didn’t sing to me but it came on the jukebox and he couldn’t help himself,” Pete sounds frustrated now, scratching at his scalp “Totally counted, though. So shut the fuck up.”

Joe opens his mouth to remark, but Pete cuts him off with a muffled groan into the throw pillow.

“You should’ve heard him, man. He made Boogie Wonderland sound like  _ sex.  _ You’re going to have to run up to CVS to get me some Plan B. There’s no way conception did not occur.”

“I’m happy for you,” Joe decides, nodding at Pete.

“He fucked me with his pipes, man—”

“Phrasing, please.”

There’s a silence that gives Joe enough time to pat at Pete’s ankles again. “I’m coming over the pool every fuckin’ day now, thanks to your golden boy,” Pete grins.

Joe makes a face that makes Pete shove at his shoulder. “Uh, okay.”

“He’s going to be mine, Joe.”

“Whatever you say, creep.” Joe snorts and ducks when a jewel-toned throw pillow is tossed in his direction.

* * *

If Joe knows anything about Pete, it’s that he goes too hard too fast.

He’s something of a magpie with twice the impulse. It’s shiny thing after the other, notch after notch. Usually it burns out, but on the rare occasions, ends up consuming him in the flames. Joe’s seen it all, and it is never pretty.

He doesn’t admit it to Pete, because God knows the boy needs any more encouragement, but Patrick does give him hope. Some weird, tinge of hope that maybe Patrick can change things for Pete.

He doesn’t dwell on it. The last thing he wants to jinx is a good thing for his best friend.

* * *

It should help that Joe really likes Patrick.

Over the course of the next week, he talks to Joe about music and makes fun of teenagers with him in the days.They’re on a pretty solid hug basis nowadays, too.

They do have one particularly heated argument about licorice. He doesn’t understand why Patrick enjoys black licorice or why he seems like he’d defend it to the death, but he doesn’t question it. At least, he stops questioning it when Patrick whips him with one of the towels they’re folding up one day. Violence is an argument in itself.

Pete lives up to his promise, too. He visits the pool every day, even the day that Patrick thought he’d come down with something. Pete ends up laying on a chaise that day, working on his tan. He doesn’t even flirt back to one of the moms in a skimpy sundress that hits on Pete. And Pete usually  _ loved  _ MILFs.

He’s never seen Pete so happy, either. Well, so wholesomely happy. All Patrick really does is point at one of the stray arm floaties, makes a face, and Pete has his head thrown back wildly, laughing pretty obnoxiously to be authentic. Then again, Pete’s lost his shit to a face-down glazed donut. Another thing on his list that he doesn’t question.

Joe catches Patrick’s eye and he smiles, waving. Patrick grins widely, reaching his eyes.

He thinks they all get along pretty well.

* * *

The wingman business does not rest.

“So,” Joe drawls one day, leveling off the detergent, with Patrick dragging in the towels in “You and Pete.”

“Yeah?” Patrick huffs, pulling the wheeled bin harder, but he’s grinning over at Joe.

“It’s easier if you push, dude,” Joe says.

“Push Pete?”

“I mean the towels,” Joe laughs before he sets the cup down and demonstrates, helping Patrick push from the other side of the bin and into the laundry room.

Patrick cocks his head before he nods in understanding, laughing in a self-deprecating manner. He flushes. “So, me and Pete?”

“Yeah, what’s goin’ on there?” Joe can’t help the teasing tone that colors his voice, nor could he help the wiggle of his shoulders.

“He’s...really funny,” Patrick offers then pauses “Kind of loud? Bit of an ass. I don’t know.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Joe admits, grinning.

“Does he own a shirt?” Patrick says, quirking his head because oh, it’s a genuine question.

“Several, I assure you,” Joe says, grinning.

Patrick chuckles before they work through the heavy loads. “He’s alright, though.”

Joe wants to ask a few more questions because Jesus, Patrick’s not giving him a lot to work with. According to Pete, he was “a bitch to read.”

The quiet humming Patrick’s doing distracts him from his thoughts. Joe laughs when recognizes Foghat before he breaks out into an unabashed  _ “I’m in the mood!” _

It catches Patrick way off guard, but the pure joy on his face is apparent. Patrick starts singing the guitar riffs  They don’t exactly match up because Joe is singing too fast and Patrick keeps laughing and missing his cue. It doesn’t matter because the aggressive, honestly concerning, whir of the dryer sounds like applause to their ears.

Patrick is wheezing by the song’s end, clutching his stomach. They start to fold the dried towels.

“We should start a band,” Joe jokes, but he also half-considers.

“Yeah, right,” Patrick laughs before he clears his throat, looking up from his this “Speaking of bands that are actually good—”

“Hey, don’t knock my singing dude.”

Patrick waves him off, rolling his eyes “You should go to this gig with me tomorrow night. It’s kind of out of town but we can take my car after work.”

Joe perks up. It’s been a while since he’s heard live music. “Oh hey, of course! That’d be cool.”

Patrick looks away, smiling to himself. He’s red in the face and jeez, Joe thinks, it’s probably because he wore a cardigan today. “I can’t wait.”

Joe can’t either. He thinks it’s perfect. Finally,  _ finally,  _ he could probably gain proper intel.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take a break from angst and do something a little lighter so here's some pining boys. Next part will definitely be a little more Pete centric! Kudos and comments are appreciated! Feel free to hit me up or check me out on Tumblr as well: @[loveinamaltshop](https://loveinamaltshop.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
